


Bewitched

by peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim)



Series: Bewitched [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Pining, Witch Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleakim/pseuds/peanutbutterjelly-pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>_</p><p>It's not easy to be in love with a witch.</p><p> <br/>(<em>A story about singing parrots, talking furniture and grumpy cats.</em>)</p><p>_</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bewitched

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to destieldrabblesdaily's Fanfic Contest (and I actually made 1st place, yay!! :D)
> 
> It's a slightly modified version since due to the competition's word limit I couldn't include every scene I actually planned, so here you get the full version!
> 
> Have fun with it ^^
> 
> _

It's not easy to be friends with a witch.

Dean learned this the uncomfortable way when he entered Castiel's home for the first time, totally oblivious and naive, and immediately got cuddled fiercely by the coatrack while the portrait of some bearded Shakespeare dude on the opposite wall watched with a gleeful expression and warned Dean at the same time in an amused voice to keep away from the refrigerator since it tended to eat people wholly and only ever return the shoes of its victims.

Castiel, however, didn't appear to be impressed by any of this and reassured Dean that Shakespeare was fond of lying simply out of boredom and that the refrigerator only occasionally liked to nibble at people, not eat them.

Dean just took it with a dumbfounded face and asked for some coffee, hoping against all odds that the coffeemaker wouldn't like to chat or grope him as well.

(Futile at last since that stupid machine told Dean just two minutes later that he was a “pretty boy” and tried to smack his ass with its cord.)

Dean recalls quite vividly how overwhelmed he had felt back then. Granted, he heard about witches and their crazy powers, but before that he didn't encounter quite that much. Only the nice lady with the herb shop around the corner who offered everyone her stale cookies and a family from theedge of town that liked to stay by themselves.

And then Castiel moved into the house across the street with his talking furniture, his ugly car, his cat familiar named Douglas and – most importantly – with the bluest eyes in existence.

And from that moment everything changed.

Dean's life became a lot more magical the last year and though sometimes it's kinda scary or simply insane he can't bring himself to regret one second.

Because getting to know Castiel and being part of his life is worth every trouble.

 

* * * * *

 

“This is for you, Dean.”

Castiel smiles like the sun itself when he presses a small vile into Dean's hands that seems to be filled with some kind of greenish liquid. It doesn't look very tasty and Dean wonders if it would burn his throat or perhaps even explode beforehand because more often than not Castiel's magic likes to do what it wants, no matter the consequences.

At least a lot of shit blew up right into his face on countless occasions before, so he became rather cautious. He's not utterly keen to lose his eyebrows again.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asks while putting the vile carefully onto his kitchen counter.

“Don't worry, it's a harmless remedy,” Castiel assures, seeming so confident that Dean can't help but believe him. “You told me yesterday that Sam often gets headaches. It's very helpful in preventing that. Tell him to take a few drops every morning with his coffee for about a week and he'll improve immensely.”

Dean stares at him with an expression that obviously seems to mystify Castiel immensely, but _shit_ , Dean can't fight back the wave of _feelings_ once again.

It gets harder and harder every day.

“Um ... thanks, Cas,” he manages to mumble eventually. “Sam will appreciate it.”

Castiel beams at him, brightening the whole room, and Dean's just unable to look away, even if someone would have held a gun at his head and ordered him to do so. Since the day Castiel introduced himself to Dean all these months ago, smiling happily while in the background his hose performed a very disturbing dance, cheered on by the flowers in the front yard, Dean is having a very hard time to _not_ think about Castiel for at least a few hours a day. He's constantly in the back of his mind and Dean can't make it stop, even when it interferes with his everyday life and he finds himself lost in a part of the city he's never been before or runs straight into a lamppost.

It's pathetic.

“Would you like to come over tonight? I made some pecan pie.” Castiel always knows what to say to make Dean's knees weak.

“Uh … yeah, sure,” Dean tries to dampen his enthusiasm because otherwise he'd jump straight into Castiel's arms and say something hasty. Or whimper embarrassingly.

“Great.” Castiel's smile grows even bigger. “And I will make sure the vacuum cleaner won't tell dirty jokes anymore.”

Well, it sure as hell isn't easy to be in love with a witch.

 

* * * * *

 

Dean took a pathetically long time to realize his feelings weren't entirely platonic.

At first he thought (or at least was determined to convince himself) his fascination was due to the fact that Castiel was a very powerful witch who could bring objects to life simply by being near to them and had a knack for nature and spirits like no one Dean ever heard of in the media before.

But when Dean visited the only bar in town on a Thursday night in late August and shamelessly flirted with a hot woman named Susan, it became all clear as a bell to him when she asked in a husky voice if they should move their “talk” into her apartment.

Usually he would have agreed immediately.

But back then he could only think that her eyes weren't blue enough, her hair was way too long and too blonde, her voice not deep enough and her hands not as strong gripped, yet so beautiful as Castiel's and –

“ _Holy shit_!” Dean exclaimed, his eyes wide when the sudden realization forcefully punched him into the face.

Susan frowned at him. “What is it?”

Dean shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “I think I've been a _huge_ idiot.”

Needless to say he went home alone that night, lost and puzzled, but still kinda hopeful. Because the thought of being in love with Castiel was surprisingly not frightening at all.

 

* * * * *

 

Yeah, in hindsight it's quite embarrassing that Dean didn't get it sooner.

Especially since everyone else obviously caught up ages ago.

“You seriously didn't _know_?” Sam's eyebrows disappear somewhere underneath his hairline when Dean confesses to his brother a few days later. “But --”

“Hey, it's not my fault,” Dean interrupts him grouchily. “It's not like I'm usually going for guys or something.”

Sam rolls his eyes so hard at that Dean fears he'd hurt his brain. “Oh please, jerk. I know perfectly well that Cas' ass isn't the first male one you checked out.”

Dean chokes on his beer and stares at Sam with wide eyes, not sure how to reply to that. Part of himself is very determined to find some good and plausible explanation ( _“There's a difference between 'looking' and 'checking out, Sammy!”_ ), but mostly he's far too busy trying not to think about Castiel utterly firm and tight –

Well, _damn_.

“You've got honestly no idea how much you're pining for the guy, right?” Sam groans in frustration. “Dude, you canceled your date with _Miranda Hot-Legs Olson_ because Cas got sick and you took care of him.”

Dean grimaces. “Someone needed to. He's a super pathetic patient. You can't leave him alone for a second.”

All the moaning and the grumbling and the – admittedly quite adorable – pouting. And, most importantly, his magic acting up so freaking bad that the exploding dryer the second day hadn't been the worst (although Dean had thought so at first, full of heartwarming naiveté, when the clothes flew all over the place) but _definitely_ the hell monster with the long claws and the horrible breath Castiel accidentally summoned for three minutes and twenty-seven seconds just a day later.

“You're at his place all the time,” Sam continues. “He became your favorite topic of conversation months ago. _Dad_ actually asked me if you've got a crush on the guy and you know that he's normally worse in noticing such things than you are.”

Sam seriously has a point there.

“And, maybe the biggest clue of them all,” his brother takes a deep breath as if he's preparing for some very huge announcement, “you're allowing Cas to _drive the Impala_. All the time.”

Dean just blinks.

Once.

Twice.

And eventually he sighs, “God, I've been such a blind idiot!”

 

 

* * * * *

 

But how can he not be in love with Castiel?

He's probably one of the kindest persons Dean ever met. He even cares about a bug's life like there is nothing more important. The kids at his school absolutely adore him and that's serious proof that he's doing something right because Dean can't remember talking about his teachers the way these children gush over Castiel.

He does nice stuff for everyone, out of the blue. He sometimes makes dinner for the overworked single mom who lives next to him. He helps the elderly ladies with their groceries and miraculously every weeks it seems to become more and more of them, surrounding Castiel and pinching his cheeks. He gives away some harmless potions and protection spells, seemingly always happy to make someone else smile.

He is weird and kinda dorky. His humor is strange and something you need to get used to, but after a while you finally get how amazingly funny this guy can be.

And he is gorgeous. The intense eyes, the disheveled hair and especially the blinding smile.

Yes, Dean's got it bad.

 

* * * * *

 

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?) Castiel is even more oblivious than Dean.

He's got no clue that the cashier at the grocery store, who always gives him a discount, is crushing on him so hard Dean can even feel it two miles away. Castiel just thinks she's nice to her customers, misinterpreting her bright heart eyes majorly.

(And Dean recalls pitying the poor girl, but now he knows _exactly_ what she's going through and considers her as some weird kind of soulmate.)

Furthermore, innuendos and jokes fly straight over Castiel's head. He takes absolutely everything literally and it leads to so much confusion between him and the rest of humanity it's downright sad and sometimes highly entertaining.

So of course he has no idea that his neighbor and best friend may be a little bit (or _a lot_ ) in love with him.

And Dean isn't sure if that's a blessing or a curse.

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel's magic, however, has no doubt about Dean's secret (or not so secret) feelings.

Dean notices it about two weeks after his epiphany at the bar. Castiel invites him over for a shared breakfast and Dean gladly obliges, firstly because Castiel makes some mean pancakes and secondly it's never wrong to spend as much time as possible with him.

And though everything seems normal at first Dean registers a weird sensation crawling over his skin. It feels like someone is petting him in an affectionate way, but at the same time there is no one touching him. He tries to suppress a shiver and fails spectacularly.

Dean's gaze roves over the kitchen and the adjacent living room, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. But everything seems to be in order. The red armchair with the thick Australian accent just hums quietly, the cat sits on the couch and licks his butt, the people in the paintings on the walls merely do their own thing and ignore Dean completely and the table lamp has a hushed conversation with the sound system about the importance of synchronized swimming.

Fairly normal.

At least for Castiel's standards.

The whole house is always brimming with magic and almost everything around here has a life of its own.

(Apart from the bathroom – a fact Dean is very grateful for since he's quite sure he'd be incapable of doing his business if the toilet would start to ask about the stock market or whatever.)

It's something Dean needed time to get used to and it's still the craziest thing ever. At least he never before had such a stimulating discussion about Marvel and DC than with Castiel's calculator and that's seriously something you never thought you ever would have to deal with.

So yeah, Dean is familiar with a lot of weird stuff.

But that invisible hand groping him, totally unashamed, and even scratching his skull like he's some kind of dog – that's definitely new.

Castiel seems to notice nothing out of the ordinary. He's just preparing the breakfast, rambling about one of his students at the local middle school, and appearing utterly content.

And he looks so freaking gorgeous that Dean just lets the warm feeling inside and wishes that the invisible force caressing his skin would be Castiel.

 

* * * * *

 

Over the course of the next few weeks Castiel's magic loses any subtlety.

One time in the park a group of dirty looking birds settles down on the bench right next to Dean and Castiel and starts to chirp the chorus of that annoying “Titanic” love song, obviously fairly pleased with themselves. After that they are followed by all kinds of animals that seem to prefer sudden musical outbursts at the most inappropriate times, making Dean flush with embarrassment and leaving Castiel enraptured (seemingly convinced it's a wonderful, yet normal occurrence to have the wildlife sing to you).

The highlight is a blue parrot croaking _“I was made for lovin' you”_ right into Dean's ear in the middle of a movie theater.

Moreover, nature itself seems very keen to never let Dean forget about his feelings. The wind seems to whisper KISS HIM everytime Dean just looks at Castiel's vague direction. Leaves and stones spell words like TELL HIM ALREADY and GET A GRIP YOU IDIOT in such a horrifying frequency that Dean is actually surprised when he's able to leave the house without nature throwing something in his face once in a while.

Furthermore, every electrical device in town obviously decided to play along as well. Radios are playing the cheesiest songs ever as soon as Dean and Castiel are nearby, even if no one turned them on beforehand. And TVs show them the most romantic movie scenes on a regular basis like it's perfectly okay to watch Jerry Maguire croak “You complete me” and have it instantly followed by Disney's Aladdin sharing his first kiss with the princess.

It goes on for weeks and weeks and Dean is not exactly sure if he's capable of dealing with it any longer.

Especially because after a while Castiel seems to catch on as well that something is going on – at least he's frowning in that adorable way of his when a rabbit offers him some half-eaten flowers – and Dean's got no clue what to say to him.

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel is not the kind of guy to ignore an issue until it goes away.

On the contrary, as soon as he realizes his magic is acting up he drags Dean over to his place, apparently very determined to solve this problem once and for all.

“I need to apologize,” Castiel says instantly after he pressed a cup of coffee into Dean's hand (because no one is allowed to say that he's not a polite and hospitable guy). “Profoundly.”

Dean just blinks at him since he has no idea what else to do. “Uh … why?”

Castiel blushes in that endearing way of his, lowering his gaze. “My magic … it can be very _persistent_.”

To make a point the little figurine of a Greek Goddess on the shelf in the living room winks at Dean suggestively while the toaster hums affirmatively.

“I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” Castiel continues, shuffling nervously. He's obviously quite crushed that his magic pestered Dean that fiercely. “I didn't notice … More often than not it does a lot of things on its own volition. Most of the times I don't even realize until it's too late.”

Too late.

It sounds an awful lot like Castiel is fearing that Dean would quit their friendship.

And that's something Dean can't accept. “It's okay, Cas,” he assures, his voice soft. “It's part of who you are. And nobody got hurt, right?”

Castiel seems about to protest – maybe to make himself clear that humiliation and awkwardness isn't supposed to take lightly –, but before he's even able to form a word Douglas hops onto the kitchen counter next to them, scowling in a way that looks utterly hilarious on a cat.

“This is getting ridiculous,” he announces grumpily. “Humans are unnecessarily complicated and I refuse to witness this any longer.”

Dean just frowns at him confused, Castiel's eyes, however, grow quite big.

“Just tell the poor guy you wanna kiss and hold hands and buy a fucking minivan or whatever,” the cat hisses. “Because I can't stand all the freaking pining anymore.”

Dean feels his face heat up immediately. Of course it's not a miracle that Douglas caught up on it too since he's linked more closely to Castiel's magic than anybody else and probably knows what's happening for ages now, nonetheless it's not entirely encouragingly to hear those words out of a cat's mouth.

But a second later he suddenly realizes that Douglas is looking at _Castiel,_ not Dean, and … _wait_.

What?

Castiel just rolls his eyes, ignoring the flush on his cheeks and shushes Douglas off the counter, whispering, “We're talking about your lack of decency later, mister.”

Dean merely stares at the beautiful man in front of him, the man he's dreaming about for weeks now, perhaps even months, and his mind is on overdrive. All this time he thought Castiel's magic was reacting to Dean's utterly prominent feelings, which he obviously broadcasted rather colorfully for watchful eyes, but maybe …

“I need to apologize. _Again_.” Castiel sighs. “I know it's not easy --”

“What was Doug talking about?” Dean interjects, not giving a damn. He needs to know this here and now, otherwise he'd go insane, that's for sure.

At least he can't take any more singing birds or love declarations in his backyard between the flowerbeds.

Castiel seems taken aback by the question, almost as if he assumed Dean would just ignore Douglas' words and resume to live happily in denial. “Uh …”

“Is he right?” Dean asks, his heart nearly jumping out of his ribcage. “Do you … do you really want to kiss me and hold my hand and have a minivan?”

Castiel squints his eyes. “I don't want a minivan.”

Dean stares at him for a moment before he huffs a laugh, suddenly feeling giddy. “But the rest …?”

“Dean, listen …”

“Oh for fuck's sake, kiss already!” the coffee table yells. “My eyes bleed. And I don't even _have_ eyes!”

This could be Dean's future. Nosy furniture, talking cats and magic that likes to serenade rodents in trying (and failing) musical numbers.

It sounds over the top. Crazy.

And so amazing.

“Dean …” Castiel whispers once again, obviously highly embarrassed by the rude behavior of his household.

But Dean doesn't give him a chance to come up with yet another apology. Instead he grips Castiel by the waist, pulls him close until there's barely any air between them left and says, “I thought your magic was acting that way because _I_ am the one madly in love with you.”

Castiel's eyes widen almost inhumanly. “ _You_ …?”

Dean leans in since there is nothing in the world he'd rather do. As soon as he feels Castiel's warm and pliable lips against his all the tension drains out of his body and he just fucking melts. And when, after a short moment of shock, Castiel reciprocates enthusiastically Dean feels like the happiest man alive.

He ignores the armchair cheering, “ _Finally_! You all owe me twenty bucks”, and the toaster answering, “None of us _owns_ money, you fool! What would you even wanna do with it? Let it sit on you?” and he ignores the orchids on the windowsill cheering them on and calling them “cute” and “adorable”.

All that matters is Castiel, warm and safe and magnificent, in his arms.

Castiel and the crazy life that lays ahead of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: a short epilogue at the end ;)


	2. Epilogue

“Cas?”

“Mmh?”

Castiel sounds utterly content in Dean's arms, rubbing his nose against Dean's temple and mumbling some words in a foreign language underneath his breath. It's seems loving and tender and Dean feels his knees going weak spectacularly fast.

The only reason he doesn't lead them to the couch and make the whole thing a bit more comfortable is the fact that this stupid piece of furniture tends to sing some annoying pop songs the moment someone spares it the tiniest bit of attention.

“Um … I've got an important question,” Dean says, fidgeting a bit. “And please don't get this the wrong way, okay? It may sound like a proposition, but it's actually honest and serious concern.”

Castiel pulls back a little and frowns. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean sucks in a sharp breath. “It's about your bed.”

Castiel tilts his head in that utterly endearing way that always turns Dean's insides into mush. “My bed?”

Dean exhales loudly. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Please tell me it's not as talkative as the rest of your friends here.”

Because he seriously doesn't need a running commentary in _every_ corner of this house.

Castiel watches him closely for a while, apparently not sure if he should be confused or amused. In the end he goes with, “You're bringing up _my bedroom_ ten minutes after our first kiss?”

He stifles a laugh and Dean can't remember him ever looking more beautiful.

Even despite the circumstances.

“I already said, I didn't mean it like that,” Dean defends himself, pouting like a petulant child. “I didn't ask this because I hoped to get laid any time soon.” He pauses immediately and, after realizing how that may have sounded, quickly adds, “Not that I _don't_ want that to happen, of course. But I don't care if it's gonna be in a near or very distant future. Hell, if you want to wait till marriage, I'm cool with that, too.”

And _that's_ the undeniable proof that Dean is helplessly gone because he never imagined to ever say or even think those words before.

Castiel, however, doesn't seem to appreciate this wonderful love declaration since he bursts out laughing. “And now you're talking about _marriage_? You honestly don't beat around the bush, Dean Winchester.”

Dean feels a dark blush burn into his cheeks. “I didn't ...” He sighs deeply. “You and your gorgeous eyes are frying my brain, man. I can't even think straight ...”

Castiel still chuckles, but nonetheless presses an apologetic kiss on Dean's lips. “You are cute when you're rambling.”

Dean ducks his head hastily, his flush intensifying without his permission. “Shut up, Cas,” he mutters with no heat.

Castiel kisses him once more, longer and deeper this time, and Dean can't bring himself to complain. “And to answer your question: no, my bed isn't very talkative.”

Dean straightens himself a bit. “Alright. Good.”

“Mainly because it only speaks Swedish and isn't able to engage a conversation with my drawer.”

Dean just stares. “Your bed … speaks Swedish?”

“It's from IKEA,” Castiel explains, shrugging.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”

Why is he even surprised anymore?

“Okay then, for future references, let's go over to my place when we wanna be alone,” Dean suggests. “It feels like your whole family is watching us, y'know?”

“Aw, we love you too,” the orchids coo in unison.

“Speak only for yourself,” the armchair interjects indignantly. “That clumsy fool once spilled beer all over me and turned my cushions to hide his unforgivable crime. I'll never forget that, mate.”

Dean clears his throat awkwardly and presses Castiel closer to him. “How about we go to my place now?”

Where no stupid piece of furniture could rat him out.

“Sure,” Castiel agrees easily. “But my magic is always with me. And if I'm about to stay at your place for an extended amount of time ...”

Dean blinks. “You're saying my lumpy couch will start to talk too sooner or later?”

“One of your chairs moved by itself the other day,” Castiel tells him. “But I'm sure I could suppress it if you're uncomfortable with --”

“No, Cas, _please_ ,” Dean says immediately. He seriously can't have Castiel feel bad about this. “The magic is part of you and I love every tiny bit of it, okay? Every single teeny weeny bit.” His lips curl up into a smile. “Even that armchair.”

“Don't make me cry, mate,” the armchair replies. “I'm still hating you.”

Dean pulls a face. “We're getting there eventually.”

Castiel still seems hesitant, but after Dean interlaces their fingers and whispers some sweet nonsense into his ear, he visibly relaxes.

“It's just … it keeps happening around me,” Castiel says. “I can't help it.”

Dean grins. “Then I can't wait for the day when my Playstation starts to give me feedback on my poor gaming skills.”

Yes, his future isn't going to be boring at all. And not even hell monsters or Swedish beds will keep him from pursuing it.

“But wait …” Dean says after a while, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “If _everything_ around you turns alive eventually, maybe … someday … the Impala …?”

Castiel chuckles. “Oh, Dean,” he says softly, framing Dean's face with his hands. “The Impala is talking to me for weeks now.”

“ _What_?”

Castiel smirks. “She told me some very interesting stories about you.”

“ _WHAT_??”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This had been super fun, I've got actually no idea why I've never written witch!Cas before.
> 
> There's _definitely_ gonna be more of this universe ;)


End file.
